San Antonio Rose (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  She shook her head and moved away. When she left this time, she would never return. The past was dead, and she had to deal with the living. Her aunt would soon be returning to New Orleans; she had to be there when Aunt Dilena arrived. There were many things she had to confess to her aunt, and none of them would make the woman happy.

  Her hand went down to rest on her stomach. She was carrying Ian's child. She had first begun to suspect it several weeks ago, when she awoke every morning feeling sick to her stomach. Ian had impregnated her the first night they had made love. Already her stomach was slightly rounded, and her clothing was tight at the waist. The time would come when she would no longer be able to hide her condition, and she must leave Tejas before that happened.

  She had not yet told Domingo that she was with child, but he was shrewd and had probably guessed it already.

  She glanced up at the gathering darkness, her thoughts tumbling over each other. "Domingo," she called, as she hurried to the stable. "Domingo. We must be ready to leave before dawn tomorrow."

  Domingo paused at his sweeping and leaned on the broom. "Where do we go?"

  "New Orleans."

  "To see your aunt?"

  "Si. I will never return to Tejas." She shook her head. "I am not even certain that I will remain in New Orleans for long."

  He nodded, feeling sad inside. For four weeks he had watched the road leading to Talavera, expecting Ian McCain to come for Emerada, but he had not come.

  He leaned the broom against the wall and laid wood for a fire. Perhaps he should have found a way to tell McCain that he had fathered Emerada's child. But it was not for him to tell. "I will make ready to leave," he said simply.

  Ian knew before he arrived at the stable that Emerada had gone. He dismounted, cursing the duty that had kept him at Houston's side for so long.

  He shoved against the door, and the rusty hinges creaked open. The only sound that could be heard was the calling of a mourning dove and the beating of his heart.

  She was gone!

  He gazed around the walls and across the floor. It was apparent from the cleanly swept floor and the evidence of a recent fire that someone had been here.

  He bent down and examined the ashes. The fire was still warm, perhaps three hours old. He saw no blankets or foodstuffs. Emerada had been there very recently, but from all indications, she would not be returning.

  Desperation gnawed at his mind, and his shoulders slumped under the heavy feeling of loss.

  Where could she have gone? How would he ever find her? She could be anywhere. Hell, she could even have gone to France.

  He tried to remember all that Emerada had told him about her aunt. What was her name?

  He walked outside and examined two sets of footprints. The larger set of prints would be Domingo's, and the smaller, Emerada's. He traced the outline of her small footprint, feel ing as if his heart had just been ripped out of his chest.

  A despondent Ian mounted his horse and followed the trail long enough to discover that Emerada and Domingo had ridden in an easterly direction. They could be heading for Galveston to take a ship for France.

  He suddenly smiled. No! She hadn't gone to France. She'd told him about her aunt's home in New Orleans. That was where she was heading. If she wasn't there, surely someone could tell him where to find her.

  He nudged his horse into a gallop. He could not desert Houston now to follow her, but he would never give up until he found her. He tried not to think what his life would be like without her. He tried to ignore the panic that ate at his mind.

  He tried.. .but he didn't succeed.

  September

  Emerada walked across the wide veranda of the stately old house on Rampart Street that was a remarkable testimony to the French Colonial style. She stepped into the walled garden that her aunt had always taken pride in, keeping two gardeners to care for it. Now it was so overgrown with weeds that Emerada could barely make out the pathway.

  She stood very still, breathing in the wonderful perfumed mixture of flowers blending with the musty aroma that was purely New Orleans. She and her Aunt Dilena had rarely been in residence at this house, since her aunt's dancing kept them mostly in Europe. It wasn't until four years ago that she had been separated from her aunt for the first time. Emerada had attended the Palitier's School for Young Ladies here in New Orleans. She had been at the school when she'd learned about the deaths of her father and brothers.

  Emerada wished for the peacefulness that she'd once known in this garden. Now all she could feel was the deep sorrow that washed through her, the torment that tore at her heart, and the loneliness that was so deep and tragic that it haunted her day and night.

  She glanced back at the huge house, which was in desperate need of paint. It was there that she had learned to dance from a dance master her Aunt Dilena had employed for her. When her talent had exceeded that of the master, her aunt had taken over her training, insisting that Emerada polish her skills.

  Emerada stooped to smell a red rose, plucked it, and ran her finger over the velvetsoft petals. There were sad memories here, too. Her beloved Aunt Dilena was dead.

  She bowed under the weight of her sorrow. Now she had lost the last member of her family, and she was so terribly alone. Sadly, she hadn't been with her aunt when she died, just as she hadn't been with her father and brothers when they had died.

  Emerada raised her head as a mild breeze dried her tears. How could she have known that while she was in Tejas, her Aunt Dilena would contract yellow fever? Molly, her aunt's maid, explained to Emerada that her Aunt Dilena had come home early from France and found Emerada gone. She had taken ill the day before she was going to set out to look for Emerada. Her beautiful, kind aunt, who had been her world for so long, had died alone, without Emerada to comfort her. Had her aunt known how much she loved her? She must have.

  Even beyond the grave, her aunt had reached out and touched her life. She had left her this house, but there was little money for its upkeep-she had been forced to dismiss all the servants but Molly, who'd been with her aunt for thirty years. Her aunt had also left her the town house in Paris, which seemed more like home than this New Orleans residence. Emerada had decided that when the baby came she would sell this house and move to France.

  She pressed the palm of her hand against her swollen stomach, trying to think of something happy. There was the promise of a new life growing within her. This child, Ian's child, was a great comfort to her in her sadness. With this baby, a part of Ian would always be with her.

  She had thought a great deal about how she would present the baby to the world, and she had finally decided that she would give the child Ian's last name. Ian need never know. He wasn't going to find her in New Orleans, and certainly not when she moved to France.

  Emerada knew that she and Ian had touched each other in a special way-with her it was love, with him, probably something quite different. Even so, she knew that the memory of her would be stamped on Ian's mind, just as his was on hers. Their lovemaking had been beautiful and exciting. She wasn't wrong about that. He'd even admitted it to her.

  She crushed the flower in her hand and remembered the feel of his lips on hers. Yes, thoughts of her might pass fleetingly through his mind when he first took a wife to his bed. But that was all she'd ever be to him-a fleeting thought.

  Perhaps, with the passing of time, when he had fathered children by his wife, Ian wouldn't even remember her at all.

  But she would always remember him. She would have his child to remind her.

  Emerada was asleep and came awake with a start. She gasped and ran her hand over her stomach. She felt a fluttering like butterfly wings inside her. With the moon streaming through her window, she reached over and lit the oil lamp.

  Plumping her pillow, she propped herself up and waited for a repeat of the wonderful sensation. The baby had moved-that had to be what she'd felt. It was alive and growing inside her, taking nourishment from her body.

  "I love you," sh
e whispered. "Whether you are a son or a daughter, I promise you that if it is in my power, you will never know a sad day. I will dry your tears, kiss away your hurts, and be with you as you grow strong and honorable, like your father."

  The fluttering stirred within her again, and her eyes widened with wonder. Now she truly felt like a mother.

  She turned onto her side and slid down on her pillow. What little money she had would soon dwindle. The well-being of her baby was suddenly foremost in her thoughts. She would have to do something soon to ensure the child's future.

  When she went to France, she would dance, as her aunt had. Many of her aunt's friends would help her in that. She was talented. She knew that. Of course, she would have to dance under another name in Paris. She would never again be the San Antonio Rose.

  She was thoughtful for a moment. Her Aunt Dilena had used only her first name as her stage name.

  Emerada? Yes, that was what she would do.

  Of course, after the baby was born, she would have to practice long, hard hours. But she'd worry about that when the time came.

  She thought of a little boy she'd seen in the market the day before. He must have been about two years old. The father had gripped the child's hand, stopping to introduce his son to everyone he met. She thought of her own father and how he had influenced her life.

  A child needed a father, and hers would have only her.

  She pounded her pillow, making a hollow for her head. "I will love this baby enough for two parents," she vowed.

  She blew out the lamp and settled into the soft bed. She wondered if the child would have its father's wonderful eyes.

  Oh, please, she thought, feeling warmth surround her heart, let this child have Ian's beautiful blue eyes.

  October

  Emerada was restless. It had been raining for five days straight, making it impossible for her to get out of the house. The rain pelted relentlessly against the roof, and she stood at the window, watching wide runnels streak down the glass, making it difficult to see past the front gate.

  She knew no one in the town. Her aunt had cultivated no friendships in New Orleans, using this house only when she was weary of the adoring crowds and wanted to be alone. Those quiet times Emerada had spent with her aunt were among her most treasured memories.

  She moved away from the window and stared up at her Aunt Dilena's portrait, which hung above the mantel. Her aunt wore a frilly white ballerina costume, with her red hair spilling down her back and a half smile on her face.

  Many of her aunt's friends had remarked upon how alike the two of them looked, but Emerada knew she would never be the beauty her Aunt Dilena had been. As she stared at the portrait, wishing she could will her aunt back to life, a tear trailed down her cheek.

  Loneliness ripped at her heart, and she glanced upward, trying to control her raw emotions. Molly had explained to Emerada after one of her bouts with crying that when a woman was going to have a baby, her emotions would often spill over. But didn't she have good cause to cry? She had no one except Domingo, and she couldn't share her deepest thoughts with him. If only Josifina had lived. She would have helped her get through this trying time in her life.

  For so long now she had been exposed to death and sadness-the death of her family, her aunt, Josifina, and all the people who'd died in the war. She embraced the thought of the life that stirred within her body. She needed this baby. It would be someone to love, someone who would need her.

  Emerada wrapped her red woolen shawl tightly about herself and took up her vigil at the window once more. Lonely hours stretched ahead of her, with no companion to brighten the shadowy corners of her life.

  She wondered what Ian was doing at that moment. Could he be thinking of her as she was of him?

  There was a knock on the front door, and she heard Molly's footsteps pass the morning room on her way to the door. Emerada was sure it must be the farmer delivering milk and cheese. But why would he come out on a day such as this? she wondered.

  She heard a man's deep voice but could not hear what was being said.

  Moments later she heard Molly's light footsteps approaching. She poked her head through the doorway, her plump face etched into a concerned frown.

  "There's a gentleman to see you, ma'am. He said his name is Ian McCain."

  Emerada didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

  He had come!

  Then panic set in, and she wondered if she should see him at all. If he found out about the baby, he would feel obligated to marry her.

  "Shall I tell him you are indisposed?" the maid asked, seeing how pale Emerada's cheeks were.

  "No," Emerada said, draping her shawl about her in such a way that it concealed her rounded stomach. "Show him in, Molly. And prepare a light lunch. He may be hungry. Make coffee for later. I'll ring if I want you to serve lunch."

  When Molly withdrew, Emerada clasped her hands nervously. Had she made a mistake in seeing Ian?

  Oh, why has he come?

  There was no mistaking Ian's heavy boot steps against the parquet floor. She looked up just as he appeared at the door, his tall frame filling the doorway. He wore a blue cutaway coat over tight-fitting black pantaloons tucked inside knee boots. His stiff white shirt collar rested against his tanned cheeks, and he carried a small leather pouch. His dark hair glistened from the rain, and she was reminded of the time he had held her in his arms, standing in the rain at Talavera.

  He had never looked so handsome, and Emerada's heart felt as if it had slammed against her chest. She clutched her shawl tightly to keep her hands from shaking.

  "Ian. What a surprise! How ever did you find me?" She hoped her voice didn't tremble-she knew she was talking too fast, but she always did when she was nervous. "What brings you to New Orleans?"

  Ian said simply, "You."

  If he had displayed any emotion, showed the slightest bit of happiness at seeing her, she would have been in his arms. But he merely looked at her with an air of detachment.

  "You came all this way when a letter would have sufficed?"

  He moved farther into the room, reminding her of her manners. "Please be seated. You must be chilled. Let me offer you something warm to drink, or brandy if you like. Perhaps you are hungry?"

  He waited for her to be seated before he took a seat across from her and placed the leather pouch beside him. "No, thank you. I dined earlier."

  "Of course."

  They were like two polite strangers meeting for the first time. She sat on the edge of her seat as if she might take flight at the least provocation, while he was stiff and formal.

  "I trust you left General Houston in good health?"

  He leaned back, placed his arm across the back of the sofa, and looked at her for a long moment before answering. "He is well and sends you his regards."

  Again they lapsed into silence. Hers wasn't so much that she didn't know what to say; it was because she cared so deeply for Ian that she felt vulnerable and unsure of herself. She was afraid that at any moment her emotions would spill out and she wouldn't be able to control what she said.

  She clasped her hands in her lap. "Our newspapers are filled with the wondrous things taking place in Tejas, or should I say Texas. Imagine, a country unto itself. My father would have been proud."

  "He would have been proud of you, Emerada."

  She made sure not to look directly into his eyes, because they were too unsettling and had the power to make her melt inside. "I do not think he would be proud of some of the things I did to accomplish my goals, Ian."

  Again, silence.

  After a while Ian stood up and walked over to the mantel, studying the portrait that hung there.

  He glanced back at Emerada. "Your aunt?"

  "Si. That was done three years ago in Paris by an artist, I believe, of some renown."

  "I can see where you get your beauty. You are very like her."

  "You are too kind. I am nothing like her, although I will always strive to have her goodn
ess."

  "Am I to be allowed to meet her? I have heard you speak so kindly of her that I would be honored to make her acquaintance."

  She lowered her head. "I am sorry that will not be possible."

  "Of course, she must be in Europe."

  "No. My aunt... died while I was in Tejas."

  He came to her, bending down on his knees and taking her hands in a warm clasp. "Emerada, what can I say to comfort you? I am so sorry!"

  She felt the heat of his hands, and she wanted to lay her head on his shoulder, seeking what comfort it would bring. Instead, she forced herself to stay where she was.

  "Thank you for your sympathy, Ian. Now, if there is nothing further to discuss, I am very weary."

  "Nothing further!" He turned her to face him. "Have you any idea what I had to go through to find you? Nothing further, you say! You can't suppose that I came all this way to pass pleasantries with you?"

  She raised her gaze to his and saw anger in his blue eyes. "Why did you come, Ian?"

  "I'm damned if I know!"

  He moved to the sofa and retrieved the pouch, opened the flap, and withdrew a parchment, displaying it for her inspection. "You will notice that this bears the new, but not yet official, seal of Texas. I was empowered by President Houston to present this to you with his heartfelt gratitude."

  "I do not understand," she said. "Houston is president?"

  "I believe that comes as no surprise to anyone."

  "Of course. Many people believe Tejas will benefit from his leadership."

  He arched an eyebrow at her. "There was a time when you would have thought him the right man for the office."

  "I still do. But I have not quite forgiven him for his lenient treatment of Santa Anna."

  Ian stood before her in a proud military stance. She wondered what he was thinking and what emotions warred within him. He looked at her coldly, like some disinterested stranger.

  "I will read the document to you," he said in a dispassionate voice." `In gratitude, the great Republic of Texas wishes to acknowledge and reward Emerada de la Rosa for her acts of heroism during our fight for independence. Therefore, Texas returns and conveys to her and her heirs the property known as the Talavera Ranch, which was previously awarded to the de la Rosa family by a Spanish land grant dated 1786.'"